


Late

by Servena



Series: How to Save a Life [2]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Hopeful Ending, M/M, Minor Injuries, Mother-Son Relationship, POV Outsider, Parent-Child Relationship, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Reunions, Worry, minor hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 13:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17407943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Servena/pseuds/Servena
Summary: “He’s never late.”





	Late

She glances up at the old grandfather clock over the kitchen door again while her hand moves the sponge mechanically over the pot in the sink. “He’s late.”

Behind her she hears the rustling of the newspaper as her husband turns another page. “He will come. And if we have dinner half an hour later than usual, it won’t matter.”

“He just went to pick up some vegetables from the market, it shouldn’t take him this long.” She puts the sponge away and starts drying the pot with a kitchen towel.

“Well, maybe he got held up.” Another page is turned and she can hear him mumble as he skims over the results of the latest football games. She knows that at least a part of his calm demeanor is nothing but a front, but right now it still drives her insane.

So she turns around and sets the pot down onto the table with a heavy sound. “He’s never late.”

He puts the newspaper down with a sigh and frowns at her over the top of his reading glasses. “Stop wrapping the boy in cotton wool.”

She picks the pot back up so she can keep drying it, leaning her back against the pantry. “He’s not well.”

“He’ll be fine.” He stands up and takes the pot from her hands. “And if you won’t stop cleaning this pot you’ll be through it in no time.”

She lets him put the pot away and sits down in a chair with a sigh. “He’s barely talked since he came back.”

He settles down opposite, but doesn’t pick the newspaper back up. “Now our Eugene never was that much of a talker, you know that.”

She shakes her head. “He wasn’t like this. He hasn’t smiled once. Not once since -”

“You oughta stop letting him do all this house work”, he interrupts her. “He oughta find a job instead.”

“I know, but he doesn’t want to. Besides”, she gives him a pointed look, “he’s done more around the house than you’ve done in the last 20 years.”

He looks like he’s got something to say about that, but the sound of an unfamiliar voice coming from outside interrupts them both.

“…and every time he’s like ‘Hey, you seen Hinkle lately?’ and I’m like ‘No, not recently, but maybe I should be writing him a postcard!’”

Their son’s low voice is answering: “Yeah? You learn any German lately?”

“Nope, but maybe I should. Finding out his address would be a bitch, though...”

Then the door opens and there’s a red-haired man standing in the doorway with a military bag over his shoulder. Behind him Eugene enters, carrying a basket full of vegetables. “Sorry for being late”, he mutters and sets the basket down on the pantry. Then he turns to introduce the stranger. “Ma, Pa, this is Edward Heffron. We served together.”

They both rise to shake his hand. “Nice to meet you, Edward”, she says, trying to hide her surprise. Their son hadn’t talked much about the men in his company, and he certainly hadn’t mentioned making any friends.

“Actually, people call me Babe. Youngest of six children”, Edward Heffron explains at the confused look on her face and then chuckles when Eugene groans behind him. “Even Gene, but it took him a while.”

“Cause it’s a horrible nick name”, Eugene says. He empties out the basket, sorting through the vegetables to pick out those that are supposed to go into the soup.

Edward – no, Babe, she corrects herself -  sets down his bag in a corner. “I’ll help you.”

Eugene turns around. “No you won’t, sit your ass down. I gotta take a look at your hand first. Seriously, only two months without a medic and you already got yourself in trouble.”

Only then does she notices that Babe’s other hand is wrapped up with a white handkerchief with a blooming spot of blood in the middle. “Oh, what happened?”

“I cut myself on the door when I exited the train.” Babe shrugs and then shoots Eugene a grin. “Looks like your spell is wearing off.”

“Ain’t no thing like that and you know it.”

He moves to set up the pot, but she shoes him away. “Take care of your guest first.”

“Alright.” He motions for his friend to sit down before pulling out a chair for himself. “Show me.”

“I’m just clumsy”, Babe says as Eugene carefully unwraps the make-shift bandage.

She sets up the pot, but then turns to watch them. Her son is leaning over the table as he examines the wound in front of him with a look of concentration on his face that she has never seen before. It’s a glimpse at his time over there, and it fills her with pride even as it scares her.

“It ain’t deep”, he mumbles. “Don’t need stitches.” Babe makes a relieved sound, which gets him a nudge with Eugene’s elbow. “Hey, my stitches are great.”

Babe grins. “Great, but painful.”

“Stay here. I gotta get something to wrap it up.” He leaves the kitchen and she can hear him quickly take the steps up to his room.

Her husband takes this chance to lean over the table. “So, Edward, you were in the same company?”

Babe nods. “Yep, Easy company, from Holland to Austria. I was a replacement, so no jump in Normandy for me.”

She knows that once her husband starts asking questions, he won’t stop anytime soon, so she shoots him a look over the heads of the younger man and shakes her head.

Her husband sighs and returns to his newspaper.

When Eugene returns, he’s carrying his medical bag that she didn’t know he had kept, dumping the contents out onto the kitchen table and sifting through it until he finds a bandage. “I knew I still had one.”

Babe squints at the bag. “I didn’t know they let you keep that.”

Eugene just shrugs. “Nobody asked for it back.” He unwraps the bandage to cut off a part of it. When Babe makes an amused sound, he looks up.

“Are those still Perconte’s scissors?” Babe asks.

Eugene stops to give the scissors in his hand a considerate look. “Maybe I should mail them back to him.” Then he pulls at Babe’s hand. “Now hold still.”

He wraps the bandage around the wound with steady hands, tucking in the end. Then he regards the end result thoughtfully for a moment before frowning and shaking his head. “Don’t know how you survived the war.”

Babe inspects his wrapped hand. “Me neither. I think I need to have a medic around 24/7.”

Eugene casts down his gaze as he cleans up the table. “Well, war’s over, and I ain’t working for free.”

“Huh”, Babe says. “How much do you cost then?”

Eugene just shakes his head, but there’s a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The sight fills her with a happiness she hasn’t felt in a long time. It seems like they are good friends even though Eugene had never mentioned him, but then, what had he mentioned at all?

Sensing her chance, she asks: “Babe, how long are you planning to stay?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He shoots Eugene a glance. “As long as Gene will have me. – I don’t have to stay here of course, I can get a motel –“

“Nonsense”, she interrupts him, “we have a free room, I’ll prepare it after dinner.”

Eugene closes up the bag, giving it a look that she can’t quite read before setting it aside. “I was planning to take a look at the drip rail tomorrow, it’s leaking. You can give me a hand.”

It’s not really a question, but Babe just says: “Sure.” Then he adds with a grin: “And if I fall off the ladder at least I’ll have a medic right there!”

The sound that follows is one she hasn’t heard in quite a while: The sound of her son’s low laughter. It’s the first time she has heard him laugh, really laugh, since that day he got off the train. She leans against the pantry for a moment, and only her husband catches her as she wipes a small tear from her eye.


End file.
